Bloodstone
by Northumbrian
Summary: Cenau doesn't want to die in the Amphitheatre, but escape seems unlikely. Can her friend Rhea help? A story of fifth century Rome, and Britannia.


**Falco Columbarius Aesalon**

Rhea the Falcon screamed and cursed.

Her words echoed around the arched brickwork of the hypogeum. She cursed her luck, she cursed her jailers; she even cursed the father of her unborn child, although she felt guilty the moment the words left her lips. Her husband was six months dead at the hands of a mob of witch-hunters, and he had died trying to protect her. Rhea's curses ended with a sob, as she contemplated her pain, and the hopelessness of her situation.

The Flavian Amphitheatre, or the Coliseum, as folk were beginning to call it, had been much altered in the four hundred years since its completion. It was a building in decline, a mere shadow of its former self. The fine marble statues of gods and goddesses had been removed, because the Empire now followed a new religion. The gladiatorial contests which had, for centuries, taken place in the arena above Rhea's head were almost forgotten; they had ended more than a generation earlier. The epic mock sea battles from an earlier age were little more than a myth.

The Amphitheatre was, however, still a place of death. Those unfortunate enough to be held captive in the hypogeum—the labyrinthine, graffiti-covered cells beneath the imposing structure—knew that they were living on borrowed time. They were prisoners of an empire in decline, awaiting an inevitable encounter with wild animals. For centuries these spectacles had occurred, and they inevitably ended in bloody carnage. They had done so ever since their inception.

Even now, four hundred years after its completion, the cells beneath the Amphitheatre were filled with people the state wanted dead. Some were political prisoners; unfortunate individuals who had fallen foul of the powerful. Others, like Rhea and her red-haired friend and cell mate, Cenau, were witches. Witch or Muggle, one thing was certain, they would remain incarcerated in the place until there were enough of them to create a spectacle. Like every other prisoner, Rhea knew that her life had already ended. Unlike her fellow prisoners, however, Rhea knew exactly when, where, and how. But she wanted to know more.

Cenau Red-hair was certain that her short life would soon end in violence and blood. She tried to remember the cool and rugged homeland she was certain she would never see again, but its fields and forests were difficult to see in the dank darkness of the cell. She cursed her curiosity and thirst for adventure, as they were the reasons she had agreed to accompany her aunt, Morna, on the arduous journey from her homeland; the place her captors called Britannia. After more than a year on the road the elderly witch, and her niece and apprentice, had finally arrived in Rome, where they hoped to learn more about the magic of metals.

At first, they had been lucky. For a year, Cenau and Morna had lived with Hannibal Sharp-sword and his woman, Rhea the Falcon. Hannibal, it was rumoured, had stolen some goblin secrets. It was certainly true that his swords were reckoned to be the finest in Rome.

Nevertheless, the empire was dying. The legions had long ago abandoned the wall of Emperor Hadrian, which lay many miles to the south of Cenau's homeland. Her grandfather had told her tales of his boyhood, stories about his encounters with the last of the legions. Before their departure Aunt Morna had assured the family that the heart of the empire was still beating strongly, but the old lady had been wrong. The Empire was not merely shrinking, it was dying and, in its death throes, it was lashing out.

Even in the capital there were factions, mobs, and an ever present sense of danger. The rabble-rousers among the mobs were always looking for scapegoats. Once, long ago, it had been the Christians. Now, however, the religion which the Emperor Saint—Constantine—had embraced was in control, and recently the witch hunts had begun.

Hannibal, as brave as his legendary namesake, had tried to save the three women of his house from the mob. His defence had been fearless, and his sword sharp, but his magic was limited, and the sheer numbers of the mob had doomed him. Only Rhea and Cenau escaped from the conflagration the mob had started in Hannibal's forge. As the flames flickered, Hannibal had attempted to douse them with a spell Cenau did not know, but he had cut down by the mob. Rhea had wanted revenge, but the burning roof had collapsed, crushing Morna, and separating the two young witches from the mob. The only exit for Rhea and Cerna had been from the rear of the shop, so they had leapt from a window into the River Tiber.

Unfortunately, among the olive-skinned and dark haired natives of Rome, Cenau's hair blazed like a beacon, instantly identifying her as an outsider. She, and the grief-stricken Rhea, had been captured when they attempted to flee the city a few days later. Since their capture, for six months, Cenau and her friend had languished in a stinking cell, sleeping on filthy straw and living on bread and water. And all the while Rhea's body had continued to swell with the new life growing within.

Cenau stared down at her bloody hands and wondered why, in these already hopeless circumstances, she was desperately trying to save a life, to save two lives. The blood covering Cenau's hands was Rhea's, not her own. Crouched on soiled straw between the spread legs of her friend, she worked and sweated in the sultry Mediterranean heat.

_Would Rhea's death here be any worse than a death in the arena above_, she wondered.

'I cannot turn the child, Rhea,' she said in desperation, blinking back tears of fear from her eyes.

As the next contraction took hold, Rhea's eyes rolled up into her head. Instead of the curses Cenau expected, Rhea fell still and silent; she didn't even breathe. For a fright-filled instant, Cenau thought that her friend was, indeed going to leave her alone in their cell. After Rhea's constant stream of curses, her sudden silence was deafening. Almost immediately, however, Cenau realised what was happening.

The dimly flickering light from the corridor wasn't much, but it was enough to assure Cenau that her friend was having one of her visions. Rhea's brief glimpses into the future inevitably occurred at an inconvenient time, but this was the worst possible moment.

The vision's ending was signalled by Rhea's deep and ragged inhalation of fetid prison air. The pregnant woman relaxed; her contractions eased, and her falcon-brown eyes blazed.

'You must cut me,' Rhea said. 'My child will be born, Cenau, she must be born, even if she must be pulled from my belly after the fashion of the great Julius Caesar.'

'I cannot,' Cenau replied, horrified. 'It will kill you, Rhea.'

'You must,' Rhea stated forcefully. 'I had hoped that it would not come to this, but my child must be born.'

Rhea's flailing hand grasped the wrist of her friend, and she stared into Cenau's bright green eyes. 'I have the sight, Cenau, my friend, you know that! I have had a seeing. My daughter will grow up in the far north, in your land, and she will be mother to the greatest wizard your island home will ever see. But to fulfil her destiny, my daughter must first be free of my womb. You must cut me.'

'I said I cannot, because I can't,' Cenau replied with equal force. 'Even if you could persuade me, I have nothing with which to cut. We are in prison, Rhea. What do you expect me to use, my teeth?'

'The bag,' Rhea said. 'The bag I had concealed. The bag you found when this torment began. Open it.'

Cenau scrabbled through the dirty straw on the floor and found the bag she had hastily discarded. It was a small leather pouch, still wet from Rhea's broken waters, and it was fastened closed by a drawstring. With shaking hands, Cenau unfastened the knot, and shook out the contents into her palm.

The pouch contained two small items. She gazed first at the green gemstone. It was the size of her thumbnail, and speckled with specks and splashes of deep ruby red. In the dim light of the hypogeum, Cenau mistook the splashes for blood, and attempted to rub the gem clean.

'It is a heliotrope, a bloodstone,' Rhea explained. 'The blood runs through it. You will need the stone later. But now we need the claw of my ancestor. I need you now, Cenau, more than ever. Your life, and the life of my daughter, depends upon it. Will you make the vow with me, Cenau? Will you make the promise which cannot be broken? Will you swear to help me, to look after my child?'

'We are imprisoned, Rhea,' said Cenau hopelessly. 'In a few days, weeks at most, we will be sent into the arena. Your child will live no longer than will you or I.'

'You will live long, Cenau, my friend,' Rhea told her. 'I see it. I see children, and grandchildren, for you; but only if you make the promise which cannot be broken, the… What is the word in your language?'

'Geas,' Cenau answered, as a flame of hope flickered in her heart. 'We call it geas and, if it will save our lives, I will undertake the geas with you, Rhea. What must I do?'

'Give me the talon,' Rhea ordered. 'Without wands, we must use the old way, we must bind ourselves with blood. Open it, please.'

Cenau looked down at the other item. The tiny bronze cylinder was the length of a finger bone, and no greater in diameter. It unscrewed, Cenau realised. She carefully removed the cap and revealed a tiny talon from some bird of prey. The talon was firmly held in the larger part of the cylinder, and Cenau carefully handed it to her friend.

Gritting her teeth, Rhea pushed herself backwards and leaned against the damp brick wall. Taking the talon in her left hand she used it to cut her right palm. With her now bleeding hand, she beckoned her friend closer, and motioned for the redhead to extend her own right hand. Cenau did as she'd been bidden, and Rhea sliced the younger girl's palm with the talon. Grasping Cenau's hand, Rhea squeezed it tightly; their palms met, and their blood mingled.

'I am Rhea, called the falcon, daughter of Aristarchus, who was scion of Falco Aesalon, like my forebears, I was born in the Imperial Province of Achaea.'

'I am Cenau, called redhair, daughter of Edan Swordsmith, I was born in Gefrin, in the land Brynaich.'

Rhea dragged her friend's bloody hand down on to her distended belly.

'This is Aella, scion of Falco Aesalon and daughter of Hannibal Sharp-sword, born in the Flavian Amphitheatre in Rome, on the final day of the reign of Emperor Romulus Augustulus,' said Rhea. 'I swear that my daughter will live, and that I will do everything in my power to aid her—and my friend Cenau—to escape from this place, if you, Cenau, will swear to help me, to take this child and protect her as your own.'

'I will.'

'Will you keep the bloodstone and the talon, safe for my daughter until she bleeds, until she becomes a woman? And will you accept all of this and take on this burden, this vow, this geas?'

'I will,' Cenau promised.

'Will you tell my daughter that she must do the same, for the stone and talon belong to a daughter, not to a mother.'

'I will,' Cenau promised.

'Then pick up the bloodstone,' Rhea ordered.

Cenau did so. It was warm to the touch, and as she watched, the deep ruby red spots on the green stone seemed to glow. When the glow faded, Cenau's hand was clean, and the puncture wound on her palm was gone.

'The talon is small, but sharp, the bloodstone heals its wounds,' Rhea explained. 'So now, you must cut me. And afterwards, I will have much more to tell you.'

Four days later Cenau, Rhea, and the baby Aella were herded out into the arena. They were three among many.

'You told me that we would escape,' said Cenau sadly, as they, along with the other prisoners, stepped, blinking, into the bright light of a sun they had not seen in weeks. The sand beneath their feet was almost too hot to walk upon.

There were more than two dozen prisoners; most were women and children, although there were also three elderly men. The Coliseum crowd roared; they were baying for witch-blood. This event was a celebration, apparently. According to their jailers the new Patrician, Odoacer, the man who had replaced Romulus Augustulus, had called for the slaughter of all evil witches and wizards. It seemed to Cenau that Odoacer was no different to his predecessor.

Rhea watched as the young Briton looked around the huge arena. Their situation certainly appeared hopeless. It was apparent from the girl's face that Cenau was certain there was no chance of escape. Behind them, the doors through which they had been thrust into the light were now firmly closed. In the distance, at the opposite end of the vast amphitheatre, guards were preparing to open another set of doors. While Cenau stared at the distant doors and listened to the angry snarls, Rhea removed her suckling baby from her breast and pulled her tunic closed.

'I told you that _you_ would escape, Cenau. You and my little Aella,' said Rhea. 'You will be free, my friend, my sister, I have seen it. All you need to do is to follow me, and trust me.'

'Take her, keep her, save her,' ordered Rhea as she handed the tiny child to Cenau.

Rhea stared into the young Briton's face. The pale-skinned redhead was still in her teens, but over the past eighteen months they had become as close as sisters. 'Remember what I told you, Cenau. Remember your geas. Care for my little Aella. Goats' milk, or sheep milk, that will be best for her. You will struggle, but you will survive, and you will reach your home.'

As she stared into the younger girl's face, Rhea saw Cenau's face fall into fear and grief. The young Briton finally understood; she finally realised that although she and Aella would be leaving the arena, Rhea would not.

'Who is Einion?' asked Rhea, attempting to distract her young friend. It worked.

'Einion?' Cenau exclaimed. The girl was startled by the question, and was too busy trying to cradle the newborn to look into Rhea's tear-filled face. 'He is one of the reasons I left home. He was my father's apprentice. He's an arrogant and annoying Muggle. When did I tell you about him?'

'You didn't,' said Rhea smiling sadly. 'So, he was your past, I thought so. He will be your future; with your help, with what you learned from my brave Alexander, he will forge a great sword, the most famous sword the world will ever know. You will complete your circle, Cenau my sister from another land. But I will make a different journey; I will join my man beyond the veil.'

After stroking her daughter's cheek, and kissing the baby's forehead for a final time, Rhea hugged Cenau. Her tearful farewells over, Rhea turned and addressed their fellow prisoners.

'I am Rhea the Falcon, I am Rhea of the blood of Falco Aesalon, the winged wizard, I am Rhea Animal-talker,' she shouted as loudly as she could. 'If you want to live, follow me.'

With those words, and an urgent glance at her friend, Rhea charged towards the pride of starving lions which had just been released into the arena.

'Stay close, Cenau,' Rhea ordered. 'And when you get through that door ahead of us, run as fast as you can, and don't look back.'

* * *

Gefrin, the hill of goats, was basking in warm sunshine. Warm but not hot. Nevertheless it was enough to bring back memories of the stifling Mediterranean heat to the older of the two women sitting on the wall. She smiled sadly down at the girl by her side.

The wall on which Cenau Well-travelled—also known as Cenau Einion's-wife—sat was already over a millennium old. It had deterred invaders on many occasions, and it seemed to be a permanent part of the landscape. Cenau was sitting on the northern side of the hill; she was looking out over the valley of the River Glen at lush green grass, goat pens, and fields of barley.

Behind Cenau, the haphazard collection of wooden roundhouses known as Gefrin bustled with activity. No one approached Cenau the witch nor did they approach the witch's daughter, who was sitting at her mother's side. Behind the two women, Cenau's younger children played near their father's forge. The villagers knew better than to bother their witch, especially when she was talking to her eldest, the tempestuous Ailla.

Sitting at Cenau's side, Aella Outlander, the eldest of Canau's daughters had been listening carefully to her mother's story. Aella lifted an olive-skinned hand and swept back her thick, dark hair. She shuffled sideways on the stones to face the woman she'd always thought of as her mother. As she stared thoughtfully into the eyes of the woman she now knew had not, in fact, given birth to her, Aella spoke.

'What happened next, Mother?' asked Aella.

'Rhea spoke, your mother spoke, and the lions turned,' Cenau said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. 'The animal keepers tried to close the doors, but it was too late. The lions attacked their keepers, and the gates remained open. Unfortunately, one of the guards managed to escape their claws. Rhea and I were in the lead, closest to the gates. A javelin flew….' Cenau paused, and wiped her tears on the sleeve of her dress. 'The guard threw a javelin, she pushed me aside, it pierced your mother's heart, and the lions went wild.'

Cenau paused, put her head in her hands, and finally cried for her friend. At the time of her escape, there had been no time for tears. She felt her daughter's hand on her shoulder, and felt the weight of her geas lighten a little. Lifting her head, Cenau dried her tears.

'So, my beautiful Aella, you are safely passed into womanhood, and I have done everything my sister-in-magic Rhea required of me. Through your birth mother, you are descended from a great wizard. Though he lived more than six hundred years ago, the stories of Falco Aesalon are told across the known world. He was the first to find his inner-beast, the first to be able to transfigure himself into an animal. For him, it was a bird. Perhaps, you, too, will master that skill. I do not know, for it is a magic far beyond my skills and knowledge.

'And now you know why your name sounds so outlandish to your friends and siblings. It is because the name came from outside this land. You were named by your true mother, and not by me. Your name means whirlwind, or so Rhea told me. And it seems that she named you well.'

Cenau took her twelve-year-old daughter's hands and turned them so that they were palm-up on her knees. Reaching inside her dress, Cenau pulled out the stained and dirty pouch which dangled, suspended on a leather thong between her breasts.

'The talon and the bloodstone,' said Cenau, placing the pouch in Aella's hands. As she did so, the geas became no more than a feather weight.

Aella silently opened the pouch, and stared at the contents.

'These are yours, Aella, but they are yours for only a few years,' Cenau explained. 'In time you must give them to your own firstborn daughter. The magic of the stone and talon is ancient, and complex. And now, I must tell you of your mother's final prophecy. This is what Rhea the Falcon told me. Listen carefully to your mothers words.'

'You are my mother,' Aella stated staunchly, 'in every way but one.'

Cenau smiled, and kissed her daughter's forehead.

'Thank you, Aella,' she said. 'But you must heed your birth-mother's words, as this is the only advice she can ever give you. She gave me a fore-telling for you, and this is it. You will have children, Aella, girls, and a boy. The boy will be born two days after the twenty-fifth anniversary of your own birth, and he will be the most famous wizard this island will ever see. Your mother requires this one thing. You must name him for your ancestor, for Falco Aesalon.'

'I will not burden any child of mine with so outlandish a name,' said Aella firmly, shaking her head. 'Falco Aesalon,' she struggled to pronounce the words. 'What sort of a name is that?'

'It is the name of the creature he transformed into,' Cenau told her. 'You should obey your mother, Aella, it is a prophecy, and it will do you no good to break it.' Cenau looked up into the sky, stretched out a hand, and pointed. 'See, there he is, watching and waiting. The bird is an omen, soaring proudly above us. The spirits of your ancestors are watching. They want to be certain that you hear my words, and heed them.'

Aella stared up at the compact, dashing bird hanging in the breeze. 'Then I shall name him for the bird,' she said. 'But in the language I know. I will not burden him with the foreign words you used, Mother. I will simply call him Merlin.'

As Aella spoke, the bird plummeted to earth. It returned instantly into the air in triumph, a mouse in its beak. Alongside her, Cenau felt the final feather weight of the geas fall from her shoulders.

* * *

**Glossary, Author's Notes, and Thanks**

_**Glossary**_

Achaea: a Roman Province covering much of the same area as modern Greece.

Arena: that part of the Coliseum where the participants meet their fate.

Brynaich: Fifth century region of Britain (later the Kingdom of Bernicia, later still part of the Kingdom of Northumbria, and now north Northumberland, in England (but only just)). Brynaich was a "kingdom" covering part of southern Scotland and that part of England north of Hadrian's Wall.

Geas: Celtic word for an obligation or vow, often magically imposed, and in this case the ancient equivalent of an Unbreakable Vow.

Gefrin: (literally "hill of goats") A settlement on top of the hill now known as Yeavering Bell in north Northumberland. It was possibly once the capital of the Kingdom of Bernicia (although that the time of this story, the capital was almost certainly Din Guardi (Bamburgh)).

Hypogeum: the network of underground tunnels beneath the Coliseum.

_**Author's Notes**_

I heard the name "Falco Aesalon" and researched it. He appeared on a famous wizard card, was the first recorded example of an Animagus, and could transform himself into a falcon. Then I did a little more research. Falco is the generic term for falcon, however falco columbarius aesalon is a very particular bird: the merlin. That sparked my imagination, and my love of links, and led to this story.

Finally, an apology, this is still not an update to one of my many chaptered stories. They are coming, honest.

_**Thanks**_

Last, but definitely not least, I'd like to thank the wonderful MrsBates93 for her beta work on this story.


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